


Tolstoy at the Crossroads

by LotusFlair



Series: A Series of Archival Speculations [10]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Apocalypse, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Speculation, Spoilers thru TMA 164
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-02
Updated: 2020-05-02
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:27:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23830795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LotusFlair/pseuds/LotusFlair
Summary: You and the One You Love arrive at the crossroads, a lonely scratch of dirt and dying grass. It offers you a choice: three directions, three paths by which to travel. You remember the last time you and the One You Love were in the Lonely. You found your way out together. You think you can do it again, but...then the tiniest bit of doubt enters your mind. One little lie as innocuous as a middle name and here you stand, uncertain of where to go.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
Series: A Series of Archival Speculations [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1496105
Comments: 4
Kudos: 65





	Tolstoy at the Crossroads

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me @darling_sammy or my website POP Archives @ pop-archives.com

They were five or six days out from their escape from the Lonely and London when a general sense of calm finally settled over them from the relative security of Daisy's safe house. They'd managed to air it out, sweeping and mopping and scrubbing everything down to within an inch of its life just in case there were any remnants of past activities by the Hunter lingering in the walls and floorboards. Jon quietly joked that they were performing a rarely practiced counter-ritual: immaculate sanitation. Martin was inclined to agree, though he wasn't sure why Jon had been so shy about saying it. There was a hesitancy and a deliberateness to his movements and words, avoiding any potential misinterpretation though Martin couldn't venture to guess as to why he'd be afraid of such a thing.

And where Jon was exercising a severe amount of caution, Martin found himself relishing in a newfound sense of freedom. Sure, they weren't entirely released from the archives, but there was the tiniest sliver of hope he kept hold of that promised a future without the presence of Fear. For the first time in his life, Martin was sure of one very crucial piece of information. He loved Jon and Jon loved him back. It was as simple as that. Everything else seemed trivial by comparison. They were alive. They were together. They were...safe. And when the time was right to return to London, they'd stop Jonah Magnus. The path was clear.

He just needed Jon to see it that way, which meant the poor man had to calm down and relax.

Luckily, Martin found a cheap bottle of whiskey in the back of the pantry during their exorcism. Once their food was stocked and a fire was going, he finally convinced Jon to share in a drink...which turned into two...and then three...and then the words spilled out. They talked for hours, sharing stories and filling in the gaps of their year in separation. There was an air of melancholy around the conversation, but it was to be expected given what they'd been through. It was worth it to see Jon smile lovingly at him while he prattled on about starting to write poetry again.

"Ya know...I wanted to ask...wass the K stand for?" Jon slurred. He was on his fourth drink with a slack smile and a punchy sheen to his eyes that made him look, for lack of a better word, adorable in Martin's opinion.

Slightly more sober, he was still nursing his third, Martin gave him an overly suspicious look. "Why so curious?"

Jon shrugged. "W'sn't on yer CV. C'dn't fine it 'nline. F'ger'd you tell me a'som pint."

Martin smiled as the words jumbled together, but he could hear him loud and clear. For all his joy at celebrating their temporary liberation, he hesitated to answer the question because whatever he said would inevitably bring on _more_ questions. That's how Jon worked and in his current inebriated state there was no telling how his Beholding powers would act. Even if he was trying not to Know or See anything, sober Jon and intoxicated Jon were two very different people with two very different means of understanding their powers. Still, better to bite the bullet and push through to the end with whatever dignity he had left to recover.

"It's...um...it's Korrival," he said.

Jon didn't react, at first. He just stared at Martin with a drunkenly discerning gaze. There was no way of telling if his powers were feeding him the truth. Then he smiled approvingly, giving a little nod to his satisfied curiosity. He reached out and cupped Martin's cheek, which Martin was helpless not to lean into.

"Hmm...Martin Korrival Blackwood...I like it," he said.

"Yeah," Martin said, feeling dizzier than he had a moment ago, "me too."

"I'm gonna kiss you now," Jon declared.

"Okay," Martin said, breathless.

No more was said because there was no more to say. Martin felt a sense of relief the following morning when they untangled from each other and Jon didn't attempt any follow-up questions. Then the world ended and something as insignificant as a middle name hardly seemed worth thinking about anymore.

***

They'd been traveling for a while, but it was hard to tell the passage of time in a place where time didn't work properly. Jon would Know, but Martin hesitated to ask. He'd been surly since their conversation with Helen and Martin couldn't pin down what had put Jon in such a sour mood. Then again, his baseline had been sour since leaving the cabin. He still blamed himself for causing the end of the world and no amount of reasoning or counterpointing would convince him otherwise. That didn't stop Martin from refuting it at every turn. There were also the waves of nightmares that barrelled over Jon via the Eye. Why the winning Entity chose to send such horrible imagery at its avatar was unfathomable, though Martin suspected it was another means for Jonah Magnus to gloat over his victory. Causing Jon pain and guilt was just a bonus for the bloody sadist.

It was unfair to ask more of Jon beyond what he was already giving. He wasn't trying to offer false hope, but neither was he wallowing in despair anymore. He was enduring a world's worth of fear and horror, venting them into the tapes as they entered each new hellscape all while trying to keep Martin safe beneath the Watcher's gaze. Martin just wished he would talk to him when something was obviously bothering him enough to keep him silent.

That was why neither of them noticed the rolling fog. They were too caught up in their own heads to realize they'd already entered the Lonely's new domain. It was empty, as was to be expected, but Martin found himself staring at a barren crossroads utterly baffled by its meaning or significance. He caught up to Jon and reached for his hand.

"Jon, what's--?"

Jon walked forward without acknowledging him. He stood at the center of the crossroads before turning to face Martin. There was a glazed look in his eyes as he stared ahead, holding the tape recorder tight to his chest. Martin flinched at the sound of the recorder clicking to life. He'd told Jon not to make him part of this ritual...diary...guide book...whatever! He knew and yet here he was about to spew terror without a thought as to--

"You and the One You Love arrive at the crossroads, a lonely scratch of dirt and dying grass. It offers you a choice: three directions, three paths by which to travel. You remember the last time you and the One You Love were in the Lonely. You found your way out together. You think you can do it again, but...then the tiniest bit of doubt enters your mind. One little lie as innocuous as a middle name and here you stand, uncertain of which path you'll choose, uncertain of which path **he'll** choose.

You remember the night he told you. You were drunk and he was so sincere. You trusted him. You abandoned your abilities because for the first time in your life...you were happy. You felt safe even if it was a veil to hang over the dangers of the archives on the horizon. All that mattered was the One You Love because you knew, with all your heart, that he was worth every risk taken to bring him home. The One You Love has always been devoted, loving, kind, and generous to a fault even at the cost of his own mind, body, and soul. So, of course, you trusted what he said was true. You trusted that he needed to remain in the One Alone's circle. You trusted that he had a plan. You trusted that he loved you so much he'd sacrifice every part of himself to keep you safe. You trusted him to follow you out of the Lonely. You trusted him to be with you, hidden away from prying eyes. You trusted him not to lie...but he did.

What else has he been lying about if he could so easily lie about something so small?

You remember Annabelle Cane's statement. She offered Tolstoy's _War and Peace_ as a foreshadowing of what was yet to come. 'Its central thesis,' she said, 'is that the tiniest, most insignificant factors can control the destiny of the world.' She was right, wasn't she? All those choices made and not made, actions and inaction, the knowledge uncovered and ignored, all of it led you to where you are now, a vessel of terror and nightmares who ended the world. And yet the One You Love stands by your side, resolute and determined to restore what was broken.

So why does Annabelle Cane want to talk to him? **You** are responsible for the world's demise. **You** are the herald of the Apocalypse. It should be **you** she's trying to contact, but instead it's the One You Love. Would he tell you what she said if they did talk? Could you trust him to tell you the truth? Do you now have to resort to Knowing if his answers are falsehoods? Is that what you've become, a lie detector incapable of trusting the one person who never wavered in his loyalty even in your darkest moments?

You remember what you were like in those days after the Hive. Weeks and months spent pouring over documents and tapes searching for answers that are so clear now that you have perspective. You drove them all away with your paranoia, all except the One You Love. He endured the worst of your outbursts and yet he was determined to see you happy and healthy regardless of his own needs. It's because of you that he put himself in harm's way, taking the Watcher's abuse and submitting to the Forsaken's influence. All for you. All of it to keep you safe.

'How much do you really know each other?' the One Alone asked. You couldn't answer because the truth was too painful to entertain, so you devoted your time and energy to learning all you could about the One You Love once you were safe in the cabin. You wanted to know him, to understand him as a man, not as a monster. You were cautious, guarded in your approach. You'd spent too much time in fear of violence in the archives. You watched your friends as they turned their backs on you, more than willing to desert you when all you wanted was a moment's rest. You still love them, regardless. The world is torn asunder and yet you still worry that, should you cross their paths in this dreadful purgatory, they will reject you once again. All they will see is a monster.

The One You Love never saw a monster. He saw **you** and you feared your love for him as much as you feared his response to your advances. To love him was to invite abandonment again. He could leave you. You wouldn't stop him if he did. You'd deserve it more than his devotion. The Distortion was right about that, at least. You ended the world. You trapped him in a hellscape from which Death isn't even a permanent escape. Even if he is devoted now...it will wane as the journey continues. He already pushes you away to monologue into your tape recorder, leaving you alone to sink into the depths of fear and break through the surface with a terrified gasp of air.

It's right of him to create those boundaries, you think. It's not his job to absorb that pain alongside you. The fear returns. It sits and festers in a heart that beats impossibly within a body that was once a corpse dressed in a facsimile of life. That's when he left you. He could leave you again. He's already set the stage and now you stand and wait for the moment you turn around and he's gone. He will leave you, the One You Love. He will leave you to your pilgrimage across a scorched and sullied wasteland of fear. A chronicler of terror poised to watch and narrate the endless nightmares of the world reborn.

And it's nothing less than you deserve.

So, here you stand at the crossroads. Three paths from which to choose. Three possibilities towards which the destination remains the same and yet you cannot fully convince yourself that you will walk the road together. And that scares you more than anything the Eye could show you. Before the Change, the One You Love was your guide, your heart, the barometer of your humanity that you fought so valiantly to retain despite all evidence to the contrary. You took joy in his laughter and the brightness of his eyes. You took comfort in his presence in the day and his reassurances in the night.

But as you stand at the crossroads you remember the warning you gave to the One You Love. You. Cannot. Trust. Comfort. Anymore.

...End recording..."

The recorder clicked again, turning itself off as Jon fell to his knees at the center of the crossroads. The fog advanced faster than he'd ever seen it move, even in the Lonely. It closed in on Jon from all sides, intent on swallowing him whole in his loneliness and grief. Martin ran to him, wrapping his arms around him before the fog could sweep him away. He framed Jon's face in his hands, searching for recognition, for clarity.

"Jon? Jon, look at me, love. Tell me you're alright," Martin demanded. There was a grey pallor to Jon's normally dark skin. His body shivered in Martin's grasp. His eyes were distant and unfocused.

"I'm...I'm..."

His eyes rolled up into the back of his head as he collapsed in the embrace. Martin frantically checked every vital sign and let out a sigh of relief when they all pointed to a living and breathing Jon. He'd just passed out, exhausted from the toll the Lonely took on him.

At least that's the lie he told himself.

***

He carried Jon for...hours? Days? The important part was getting away from the crossroads, away from the Lonely once again. He finally settled on a safe-looking outcrop and set up a small camp for them to "rest." He didn't bother starting a fire. There was no need. He just had to wait for Jon to wake up.

It was on his fifth attempt to recite a monologue from _Julius Caesar_ when he heard Jon begin to stir. Wakefulness was a slow process, but, eventually, Jon's eyes opened. There was no trace of the Lonely in them and Martin found himself silently thanking someone that Jon was okay. But with consciousness came remembrance and Jon immediately looked away when the memories returned.

"I - I'm sorry, Martin...that was - that was unforgivable. I - you told me not to-to tell you those--" he stammered as he attempted to put some distance between them. Martin's reflexes were better than they'd ever been and he caught Jon's arm easily, stopping the stream of words pouring from his soul.

"Jon, don't give them what they want," Martin said, tugging him closer. "Don't leave me."

"Weren't you listening?" he asked, sitting with a miserable huff. "It's likely to be the other way around."

Martin hesitated, then berated himself for thinking like an idiot before putting his arm around Jon. He instinctively leaned into the contact, pressing his body as close to Martin's as was humanly tolerable, which did the job of getting a delighted chuckle out of the him. They stayed that way for a while, taking comfort in the familiarity of a moment in which only they existed. The Ruined World wasn't going anywhere. There was no rush.

When he was ready, Martin said, "I didn't mean to lie to you."

"Martin..." Jon sighed.

"No, I need you to listen to me, okay?" Martin said, sternly. He felt Jon tense up before nodding against his side. "I was afraid, alright? If I told you the lie or if I told you the truth, I assumed you'd keep asking questions. And I...I didn't particularly want to go down that path. Not then. Not when everything was still so raw."

There was a pause before Jon asked, "And now?"

Smiling to himself, Martin gave Jon a tight squeeze. "It's the Apocalypse, Jon. Ask me anything."

"Why did you make up a fake middle name in the first place?" he asked. Despite the fragility between them there was a lilt of humor in his voice. It made Martin's heart sing.

"Dunno. It felt like - like I should have one, ya know?" he said. "It seemed weird to not have a middle name. And when I left school to support my mum, I needed to put a CV together and all the templates had middle initials. They looked professional. Competent. Reliable. So I just left one in when I cut and pasted the thing together."

"When did you actually have a name to go with the letter?" Jon asked, his amusement dulled by tenderness.

"Hmm, probably when I started living in the archives," Martin said. "I was recording a poem and I did a future think on when some young reporter would ask about my middle initial, so I spent a couple of nights mulling it over before I settled on one."

"And it was Korrival?"

"It's actually spelled with a C. I thought it looked better with a K. It means...a rival for another's affection, or something along those lines."

"Ever the hopeless romantic," Jon said, the tension all but melted away.

"Hopeless being the operative word," Martin said. The tension returned as Jon sat up, meeting his eyes.

"Martin...is that why you didn't want to tell me? You thought I'd, what, pity you?" Jon asked.

Ashamed, Martin nodded. "I didn't doubt you loved me, Jon, but...I didn't want there to be another thing that indicated how sad and pathetic I am."

He felt Jon's hand grip his, squeezing tightly as he leaned in close. "You are many things, Martin, but sad and pathetic aren't among them. I love you too much to let you think that of yourself."

"I know," Martin said, tears on the cusp of falling over. "I love you too, Jon, and the same goes for me. You don't deserve to be abandoned and I will spend the rest of this quest telling you this wasn't your fault if I have to."

Jon smiled, tears of his own already spilling down his cheeks. "I might believe it by then."

"Good," Martin said. "I'm going to kiss you now."

"Okay," Jon said, breathless.

No more was said because there was no more to say. Hand in hand, they renewed their journey across the fearsome terrain; ready to face it together.

And in the distance, carried on the breeze, was the sound of a telephone ringing.


End file.
